Vive Les Faverolles

Three chickens we were brought to town
By farmer’s daughter Claire
We rode in style in a wooden cart
Pulled by an aging mare

Having never ventured beyond our walls
We felt it such a treat
And marveled at all the livestock
That lined that village street

There were cows and hogs and woolen sheep
Being preened and led around
While husky men with dirty hands
Quibbled on francs and pounds

It was then the farmer’s daughter
Assumed an icy stare
And had the gall to ask the value
Of, “Those chickens over there”

All at once it struck me
This trip was just a curse
Maiden Claire had only brought us here
To trade or sell or worse

We are proud French Hens and will not cry
Even though the axe may fall
But don’t you dare call us chickens mon cher
We are Les Faverolles